Of Nightmares and Phone Calls
by willsolxce
Summary: When Nico's nightmares panic him more than ever before, and he can't find a resource of comfort in his silent apartment, he calls Will, and Will's voice is comfort enough.


aNOTHER SOLANGELO FANFICTION I AM TRASH

nah but I love these babs, sorry if they ooc omg this is a spur of the moment fic, but I hope you enjoy, please do review, and all that jazz.

**"I Loved You First"; Christina Rossetti, aka the poem Will reads**

**ti amo = I love you**

* * *

_"Oh I feel overjoyed_

_When you listen to my words_

_I see them sinking in_

_Oh I see them crawling underneath your skin_

_Words are all we have_

_We'll be talking_

_We'll be talking_

_These words are all we have_

_We'll be talking_

_And I hear you calling in the dead of night_

_And I hear you calling in the dead of night._" - Bastille ; Overjoyed

* * *

Wind whistled outside their window, the snow coming down in heavy, thick heaps. Nico's nose poked out of his blankets, pillows, and comforters. It was bright red from the cold and the wind outside, and both from his now stuffy nose. He sniffles and scrubs at his eyes, tears having stopped hours ago. He turns his head to gaze at his cellphone, screen bright and the ringtone blaring his ears. 'Will Solace' called 7 times, and Nico wouldn't bring himself to answer. His limbs shook, and anxiety swelled again, fear mixing in his stomach, bubbling up like he was to burst. He couldn't tell his sweet boyfriend, he couldn't tell him. William Solace was so sweet, too precious for his problems. He couldn't help Nico, and the weight of that would way him down forever, Nico was certain. The brunette leaned his head between his knees, having pulled them to his chest. He inhales and exhales, breathing forcing out his chest like the wind beating his window. He dug his hands through his hair and grips tightly, knees knocking. Words escape his lips, thick Italian – Will would've asked what they meant, he would've asked if he needed something, like a glass of water or a hug or to put in Hercules again so that they could sing along to their favorite songs and laugh at Hades.

But Will was not here. He was at school in Georgia, in one of the best schools in the country. He was going to be a doctor, he was going to help people! Will had been so excited, after Lee and Michael… He wanted to embrace his healing abilities. He wanted to take it somewhere. So, he moved back in with his mom in Atlanta, got a job at Starbucks Coffee, and went to school full time. Nico did the opposite. Because of his age and the fact he should be very, very old now, he bought an apartment instead, and shared it with his two corn snakes, Fred and George. The two had a nice life, Nico worked at camp as a teacher during the summer, and worked at McDonald's to pay for his home. He'd had his ups and downs, the claustrophobia, anxiety and nightmares had been kept at a minimum. He video-chatted Will every night, and Iris Messaged anytime the thing would work – it had still been damaged from the war, the war that seemed years ago.

Nico crawled out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. He brushed his hands through his matted hair and exhaled, calloused fingertips brushing down the mess. He licks his lips, and stares at his reflection, porcelain pale. His eyes are bloodshot, and he either looks sad or drugged, and he is not sure which he prefers. The Italian walks back to his phone, hands still shaking, knees still knocking. He tugs at the strings on his hoodie, hoodie that really isn't his own hoodie. But it was soft, and Will had been in it, even if his own smell had over-shined the freshly cut grass and sterilized medical scent of his companion. He picks up the flickering device, Will was calling again, and slowly, for the first time in two days, Nico answered.

"Babe," Will's voice was the first thing he had heard in hours, and it made him tremble again, "Nico, please say something – I haven't heard your voice in 50 hours, sweetheart, I need to know you're okay."

"It's only been 48, two days." Nico's voice cracks and wavers, but if it brings a smile to Will's face, its okay.

"Alright, darlin'," The Southern twang in Will's voice is deeper than it is usually, but it is comforting, and it wraps Nico in warmth, "You got me. Is something wrong, di Angelo?"

"Maybe, I don't know, sunshine." Nico flops back into the bed, eyes catching to the television, still muted from earlier, playing reruns of Law and Order. He watches it as he talks, it focuses his voice and calms him, instead of letting his eyes – and thoughts – wander.

"Tell me about it." He hears shifting, and assumes Will is finally getting into bed.

"You were there this time. Clovis, he, he couldn't pull me out, the dream had taken me and, they attacked you, you couldn't breathe, and the darkness was taking over everything! It was so dark down there, and then I woke up, but I wasn't really awake. Apollo was there and he attacked me, and Aphrodite was smiling and Eros, he was laughing! I… I wasn't allowed to be happy, he said," Nico exhales shaking, no shame in his voice, "Then I was at camp, people hated me, ignored me, it was my fault, Will… And then, I woke up. And, I panicked again, I couldn't stop shaking-"

"Nico, breathe." Will speaks calmly, "Focus on my voice."

The Italian closes his eyes tightly and wraps himself in the blankets, "Okay."

"You haven't slept, huh?" Will asks, and continues talking once he gets a grunt for his answer, "We'll work on that later. I'm coming home this summer, remember? I'm taking those classes online, so I can be with you. How's George? George always liked me best…" Will rambles about nothingness, thing Nico already knows, but the firmness and stable-ness of his voice calms Nico.

"Will, do you know any poetry?" Nico finally asks, noticing the shakiness of his limbs has stopped.

"Of course, got anything in mind, Homer? Shakespeare?"

Nico hums, "Not anything in particular."

"_I loved you first: but afterwards your love/Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song/As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. /Which owes the other most? my love was long,/And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;/I loved and guessed at you, you construed me/And loved me for what might or might not be –/ Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong./For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine;'/With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done,/ For one is both and both are one in love:/Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine;'/ Both have the strength and both the length thereof,/Both of us, of the love which makes us one."_

"Of course you picked the romantic one." Nico snorts, head lofting the pillow, eyes drooping with sleep."

Will's voice sounds like a warm smile, "Of course, what did you expect?"

"Who wrote it?"

"Christina Rossetti. I assumed it was fitting." Will draws out, "Can't believe my little Italian missed that poem."

"I missed a lot, Will." Nico manages a soft, outspoken chuckle. He is feeling calm, refreshed, and warm.

"Not as much as I miss you." Will's line crackles a bit, mostly from reception, or perhaps his mother was stirring. It was nearly morning, by this time.

"Same here." Nico murmurs.

"I'll see you soon, angel."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that, I'm not an angel."

"Okay, my little ball of death."

"Gods, Will!" Nico laughs, giddy now, his thoughts a roller coaster of emotions.

"I love ya, Neeks." Will replies, voice rising, making Nico's heart flutter, just like it always did at the 'L' word.

"You and your nicknames…" Nico mutters, "Ti amo."

"Even I know that one~!" Will exclaims, though still much of a whisper.

"Mm, shocking." Nico barely rolls his tired eyes.

"Go to sleep, di Angelo, or I'll come up there and scold you."

"You don't have an infirmary to hold me down in, though." Nico sniggers. Though his eyes flicker, and a heavy hand ends the call. Nico holds his phone to his chest, lips parted, smile infectious. Maybe it wasn't too bad, maybe he could tell Will these things. It surely made Nico feel better.


End file.
